


That's The Truth

by Fire_Bear



Series: Hang Cool Teddy Bear [7]
Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Drama, M/M, Murder Mystery, Romance?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-15
Updated: 2015-05-15
Packaged: 2018-03-30 17:54:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,929
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3946153
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fire_Bear/pseuds/Fire_Bear
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When detectives turn up at Arthur's door to ask about his fiancé's possible involvement in the murder of one of his business rivals, he has to decide whether to tell the truth - or lie.</p>
            </blockquote>





	That's The Truth

**Author's Note:**

> This one is based on I'd Lie For You and That's the Truth.
> 
> Warning: Character death(dead?), probably kinda creepy and dark. I'm hoping this works out because I've made it pretty vague so that it could be taken a couple of ways...? It's probably just gonna confuse people. ^^"
> 
> P.S. Alejándro Castro Diaz is Cuba. Just so's you know.

Arthur was in the middle of preparing the dinner when there came a knock at the door. Blinking and wiping his hands on a towel, he made his way through the flat to answer it. He was rather surprised when he opened it for, on the other side, were two men in suits that he had met only a few times before.

“Detectives Beilschmidt and Beilschmidt?” he said, eyes wide in alarm. “What is it? Why are you here? You're not here to-?”

“We need to speak with your fiancé,” said one of them, cutting him off. He was the Rude Beilschmidt: pale hair, reddish-brown eyes and cheeky grin when the situation called for it. As far as Arthur was concerned he was cocky and irritating, someone he disliked immensely but manners dictated that he be polite to him. For now, at least.

“He's not home yet,” Arthur told them, frowning. “Why do you want to see him? We already told you all we know about that Zwingli murder.”

“Unfortunately,” said the other detective – a serious man with slicked back, blond hair and hard, blue eyes – whom Arthur had dubbed as The Brains, “we are not here about that.”

“But- But, what-?”

“May we come in?” asked Brains.

“Oh. Um, sure,” he said and stepped aside, wondering what they were there for. Arthur had only met these two detectives a few times. Each occasion was to ask for Alfred's whereabouts and knowledge related to a murder. Of course, Arthur had told them that it wasn't Alfred but they seemed to believe him less and less with each one that occurred.

Once the detectives had settled in their relatively modest living room (Alfred was eager to move into a penthouse once they were married), Arthur made his way to the kitchen to turn everything off. When he returned, Rude Beilschmidt gestured at Arthur's armchair. “Have a seat, Mister Kirkland.”

“I take it you don't want anything to drink,” Arthur stated as he did so. After all, every time they visited, they had refused. Which was a shame, really, because he could make a mean cup of tea. Coffee, though, was Alfred's speciality.

“No, thank you,” answered Brains. “Let us get down to business. Have you ever heard Mister Jones mention an Alejándro Castro Diaz?”

“Yes,” said Arthur, not even having to think about it. “This... Diaz character was on the telly the other week and Alfred was complaining about how he couldn't start his new project because Diaz's company was in the way. I'm not entirely sure about the intricacies of it. Something about forty-seven thousand dollars. I think he moved onto a new project while he was in negotiations, though.”

“And how did he seem to you when he was complaining? Angry? Upset?” asked Rude.

“Look,” said Arthur, getting annoyed. It was obvious they were accusing Alfred of something. “What's all this about?”

The two detectives glanced at each other, Rude raising an eyebrow. Brains spoke up. “Mister Castro Diaz was found, murdered, earlier today.”

Arthur gasped. That was horrible. But, now that he knew why they were here, he knew that they suspected his lovely Alfred. He struggled to keep his emotions under control but managed to say, his voice wavering slightly, “Now, look here. Alfred wouldn't hurt him. Sure, he was in his way, but he would have negotiated him down until he got what he wanted or needed or-or whatever. You're barking up the wrong tree – again.”

“We have plenty of witnesses that said they heard Mister Jones stating that he wished that Mister Castro Diaz would disappear,” said Rude, raising an eyebrow. “Isn't this rather handy for him?”

“Of course he said that!” Arthur was seething. “He was upset and stressed. That doesn't mean he killed him. When did this murder happen? I'll prove to you that he wasn't able to kill him!”

Again, they glanced at each other. Then Rude said, “Last night, between eleven and one in the morning.”

Now, should he tell them the truth? Alfred would probably back him up, regardless, of course. They would make sure their stories matched before the police could talk to Alfred – they couldn't drive through the streets, hunting him down on a shopping trip, before he returned home. Making his decision quickly, Arthur smiled in relief.

“Ha! Although Alfred _did_ go out last night to buy some ice cream, he was back by nine, we watched a Doctor Who episode and then we went to bed.”

“How do you know he didn't leave after you fell asleep?” asked Rude, leaning forward to look at him right in the eye.

Arthur stared him down, calming himself somewhat so he wouldn't do anything rash. Now was not the time for that. Instead, he smirked. “We had sex, that's how.” He was amused by the blush which graced both of the detectives' cheeks. “ _And_ he kept it in. It's rather a kink of mine. When I woke up in the morning – _before_ Alfred, mind – it was still in. It would be rather hard to put it back in without waking me up.”

Brains swallowed. “So... So what you're saying is that Alfred's alibi is...”

“His dick in my arse all night.” Arthur had to stop himself from laughing openly at Brains's darkening blush.

“Are you sure you're not covering for him, Arthur?” asked Rude, his voice low and insistent. “You _do_ know that that would be aiding and abetting.”

“Of course I do!” snapped Arthur, getting angrier. These two were always, _always_ , annoying. “If you're going to accuse me of crimes I haven't committed without the proper documentation or evidence, then I suggest you get out of my house!” He rose to his feet, glowering down at the detectives.

Rude looked as though he was about to protest but Brains placed a hand on his shoulder and shook his head. They stood in unison. “Well,” said Brains, “thank you for your time.”

Arthur nodded curtly and herded them to the front door, still scowling. “Yes, yes. A _pleasure_ to help. Goodbye.” The two men had barely crossed the threshold before Arthur slammed the door. Sighing, he put his hands on his hips and thought for a moment. Alfred would be home soon but the dinner was probably ruined. Perhaps he should call him to ask him to pick something up – or to make sure he wasn't working late again.

* * *

 

“I'm home!” called Alfred as he pushed his way through the front door. Arthur was at his side in an instant to help him through with the food as he loosened his tie in relief.

“Welcome home, love. I'll just put this in the kitchen.” He hurried through and placed the cartons of food on the table, bustling around much like a housewife.

“Can we eat now?” whined Alfred as he dropped his briefcase and computer bag in the hall without much care. “I'm half-starved here!”

“Ah, no. There's something I have to tell you,” said Arthur, frowning. “Perhaps it's best to forget about the food for the moment.”

“Huh? What's wrong, babe?”

“Come on.” Arthur took Alfred's hands and began to gently pull him to the living room. He pushed him onto the couch and sat down beside him, close enough to hug him if necessary. Swallowing, he gazed at his perfect fiancé: handsome and clever, the head of a massive company, loving and kind. He was a god amongst men and didn't deserve to be accused of crimes or for people to badmouth him. But Arthur had to tell him or everything would fall apart.

“Those detectives were here again...”

“What?!” cried Alfred, frowning. “I told them to go through my lawyer if they wanted to talk about Zwingli.”

“They weren't here about Zwingli. I take it you haven't heard?”

“Heard what?” Alfred asked, eyes wide and face paling.

Concerned, Arthur raised his hands to cup his face and rub his thumbs against his cheeks. “Last night, that Diaz bloke was stabbed to death. Forty-seven times.” He paused before adding, “Though, that last bit was what I've heard from the news so I may be incorrect.”

Alfred inhaled sharply. “Oh, my God. Diaz? Seriously? But... But he-he was fine yesterday morning. He was even backing down a little.”

“Oh?” Arthur cocked his head. “So he was going to sell those shares to you for less than forty-seven thousand?”

“Yeah... I can't believe he's gone- Wait.” Alfred focussed on Arthur, a hurt expression on his face. “Do the cops think it was me again?”

“Don't worry. I told them you were with me.”

“But-But I wasn't. I was working late again, with no-one to verify-”

“Shush, shush, love. I won't let them find out,” said Arthur, pecking Alfred's lips. “Look, I told them that you'd gone to the shops and got home by nine. And then we watched Doctor Who and had sex. That's what we did.”

“Not until, like, midnight or whatever! And didn't they say I coulda just left while you were sleeping?”

Arthur smirked. “I'm sorry, love, but I told them what you did.”

“You mean...” Alfred turned red which was much more reassuring than being pale.

“Now, you didn't kill Diaz so you have nothing to worry about, even if they do find out. But they won't because you'll just tell them what I told them and they'll never know.”

For a second, Alfred looked uncertain. Then he sighed and leaned over to rub their noses together. “You're too good to me, sweetheart. I'm sorry you're having to lie for me.”

Tilting his head upwards, Arthur pressed their lips together, smiling into the kiss. When they broke apart, Arthur patted Alfred's cheek lightly. “It's quite all right, dear. I'd do anything for you, after all. Now, you wait here and I'll go split everything onto two plates. Just relax.”

“I'm not sure I can,” Alfred admitted with a chuckle as Arthur stood.

With a quick peck to the forehead, Arthur replied, “I know a cure for that, pet.”

He made his way into the kitchen and opened up the food. They had had an argument on the phone about what to get and had ended up with a variety. Alfred had gone to a World Restaurant and bought a few different things, including a calzone, pasta, what looked like wurst and some fresh sushi. Most of it was easy to split between them, but he would have to cut the calzone.

However, when he turned to the knife block, he sighed when he remembered that one of his knives wasn't there any more. It was in a bin, or maybe even in a landfill by now. He'd have to work out how to explain that to Alfred at some point but not at the moment. What would Alfred do if he got suspicious, after all? No doubt he would call off the wedding and Arthur couldn't allow that – he loved Alfred too much.

But, without Diaz, their life would be perfect now. With smiles and kisses and Alfred's happiness. And no-one would take that away from him. Absolutely no-one. Not even those detectives. Arthur would protect Alfred from them and, in turn...

Well, no-one would suspect _him_ with their alibis.

So he was down a knife and, in the meantime, he picked out a different one. With one swift slice the calzone was in two. He was getting quite used to using knives these days. “Dinner's ready!” he called and settled himself at the table for a lovely meal with his _completely innocent_ lover.


End file.
